


Silvered Words

by TheSuspiciousOrange



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pining, Poetry, Reader-Insert, Rung is only mentioned I'm sorry, Same for Ultra Magnus, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sonnets, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 17:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSuspiciousOrange/pseuds/TheSuspiciousOrange
Summary: In which Reader gives Megs some good ol' fashioned sonnets.Scandalous.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing. I've been out of the Transformers fandom for like five years and I'm waiting on my trade paperback of More Than Meets the Eye vol 8 to come in. So please, bare with me, I am basing all of my knowledge on the old shows and what I've picked up from tumblr posts. Also I love the fact that Megs is a good guy now, like, I no longer have to rely on Shattered Glass universe for my dose of good Megatron yes bless.
> 
> Unbeta'd.

This was the fourth one you had made this week.

Scowling furiously, you rubbed your temple, eying the datapad before you in distaste. No matter how many edits you made, it never felt right. All of those English lessons seemed to melt away as you put your fingers to the keyboard, their pointers lost to you as you tried desperately to pump out anything to convey your feelings. It was not only frustrating but also disheartening. How did you convey to an ex-tyrannical overlord that you had deep-set feelings for him? How do you paint with paltry words of the genuineness of your affection for the one and only Megatron? It seemed an impossible task.

The first poem had flowed smoothly, like water onto the paper. You didn't even think. You just wrote. It seemed so easy at the time: it was about his voice. You went on about his laugh, scarce though it was, the gentleness to his words that seemed so foreign but were music to your ears. Their tones rolled, graveled and smoky, soothing amongst the constant whitenoise of the rest of the crew. Without even thinking, you had left the file just under the door of his quarters. You knew better than to attempt something so bold while he was around, making sure that he was on duty before dropping it off.

When that one didn't provoke any sort of negative response, even seeming to add a bit of pep to the older mech from what you could tell, you were thrilled and eagerly set to work on another.

And another.

Every other day found you slipping to that giant, barring door, dropping off your simple gift before scurrying off like some flighty rodent so that you wouldn't get caught. And they were always signed the same. _With love._

But now you were running out of steam, the awakened poet in you becoming hesitant and discontent. Were they actually good to begin with or was the rush of writing blurring your judgment? What if he hadn't actually liked them at all and was pleased by something else? Panic set in by the third hour, you hand hitting the delete button far more times than you cared to admit. Hundreds of words, written again and again, the tiniest of variants in each, tossed aside as none met the disgustingly high bar you placed on yourself.

Your last poem had been about your admiration for him, for all that he had accomplished, since joining the Lost Light. All of his honest efforts, in spite of the distrust and hatred, directly and indirectly, shot his way, that enhanced and renewed the quality of life on the ship. No matter what others would say, you firmly believed that without Megatron on board, it just wouldn't be the same. But that could have been your heart talking for you.

Scrubbing your hands furiously through your messy tresses, you debate on just tossing the datapad into the trash. But the moment you even consider the idea, you can almost hear Rung's gentle voice echoing through your head. _Now what good would tossing away your efforts be? It will just leave you feeling empty. At least try. It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be._ "If only it were that simple," you grumble under your breath before getting back to it. Better just get it done or Rung's phantom voice would pester you all night.

It takes another hour and a half before you are moderately content with your work. It's not perfect but you're fairly certain it gets the message across. This was it. Your last poem. You know you don't have the steam to keep churning out works at a steady pace like this but at least you could end the flow of poems correctly and leave your muse in want of a farewell. Chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip, you give it one last look-over.

 

_Think thou dost of aches of thy past,_

_Weep dost thou for times lost and maimed._

_But know not dost thou, these ne'er last,_

_For I will fight for thy Spark so it might ne'er be claimed._

 

_Rest, weary soul, upon mine breast,_

_Let me shoulder thy burdens this time,_

_So that thy Spark might fly free of its tangled nest._

_Show thee will I that I can fight for that Spark of thine._

 

_I am of earnest hope that my words, silver'd,_

_Lessen and comfort a tired, battered soul._

_May my young, crafted tongue offer loves, softly murmured,_

_That thou might recover years from which thou was stole._

 

_Know that, all in spite, my word is honest and true,_

_That my love for thee shall e'er be brilliant and new._

 

_-With Love_

 

A brief grimace crosses your face, you exhale heavily and check the time. 10:46. No doubt he was in the middle of his shift and there wasn't any time like the present. It was best to treat this like a bandaid: rip it off and get it over with.

Smoothing down your hair like you were going to meet said mech rather than just drop off your work at his door, you clutch the datapad to your chest. Heart pounding, you follow the familiar steps. Twenty-seven steps towards the head of the ship, a right turn, thirty-three steps, then a left had you right at his door. Taking several deep breaths, you go to slide the glowing blue pad under the door only for it to slide open before your eyes. Large silver peds fill your vision before, slowly, you look up. _Ah shit._

If Megatron had eyebrows, you were positive they'd be furrowed right now, if the narrowing of his optics was anything to go by. A dart of red in the direction of the suddenly leaden pad in your hand seals what little hope you had of slipping away. "You?" was the grunted inquiry.

You lick your suddenly dry lips, pulling the pad to hold tightly to your chest, shifting from foot to foot. You _could_ lie. Say it was a mistake; wrong room. That you were just delivering a report. But that would lead down a tangled web of lies that you didn't have the heart nor patience to deal with. Swallowing down the trepidation blooming in your chest, you lift your chin slightly higher, as if that could somehow make you taller than the Cybertronian before you. "I, um... I came to give you this," is your reply though it sounds almost distant to your ears, as if you weren't the one speaking.

Now his focus is solely on you and the datapad in your crossed arms. Kneeling down after a tense moment, he holds out a hand for your latest work. "Thank you," is his simple response as you place it in his waiting palm after a moment of hesitation.

Muttering something about needing to get to work on some files for Ultra Magnus, you scurry away as quickly as possible before your face can spontaneously combust from how red your cheeks were. Before you make it to the end of the hall, a low voice calls out, "They mean a great deal to me."

You pause, turning on heel to regard your muse.

"Your poems," Megatron clarifies with a small smile. "I enjoy sonnets. If you would be interested, I would enjoy discussing rhyming prose and other poetry styles."

Your heart thuds to a stop for a fraction of a second before you offer back a mirroring, shy smile. "I'd like that."

 

Maybe you could write just one more...

**Author's Note:**

> I tried. I really did. Dedicated to Rocksinmuffin for getting me back into writing with their great works.
> 
> Edit: I would like to get more practice in so I can start writing regularly. Check out my profile for fandoms I am currently active in! I'm taking prompts, requests, challenges, and whatever else!


End file.
